


i look fine (no i dont)

by MyShameMachine



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, hopefully not that dark, mild spoilers for season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyShameMachine/pseuds/MyShameMachine
Summary: Will Byers isn't quite thinking anymore.





	i look fine (no i dont)

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing CR stuff but my dummy brain won't let me the decent length fic y'all deserve
> 
> So here's more short fic
> 
> Tell me if I need to add/edit any tags
> 
> Title is from "Nobody Cares" by Superorganism.

Will picks up the crayon. Pauses. Puts it down.

It doesn't seem right, somehow.

He picks up a marker, and sets it to the page. It fits his hand better, so he draws something.

Focus, he reminds himself, focus. He shies away from why.

Will has always been good at drawing, ever since he was little and crayon painted the walls.

Somehow, he can't do it anymore.

This picture turns out blotchy, the lack of color variety vividly apparent. Not everything is a masterpiece, Will reminds himself. He crumples it up, putting it in the trash.

His walkie-talkie buzzes, but Will can't seem it get up and get it. He panics, for a moment, because he should be more in control, but his head is buzzing too and he's far away, so it's alright, really.

He drifts out of his room, through the hall, down the stairs, out the door. It's colder out here, so Will shivers.

He likes it cold.

The words come unbidden, so Will shivers harder, because he doesn't, he really doesn't.

He leaves the bike behind, and walks. Will isn't sure where he's going, but somehow he ends up at the quarry. He stands at the edge, wind rustling through his hair.

"I jumped, once." Says a voice from behind him, and Will turns.

"I wasn't-" He begins, stopping short when he realizes it's Mike. "You did?"

That must have been when he was gone.

"Yeah… Don't do it, Will. It's not worth it. Really." Mike says, stepping closer. He looks tired, almost. He puts his hands in his pockets, thumbs hanging out, and Will wonders if it was him who called earlier.

He steps away from the edge, wondering vaguely if he had really planned to step off. He doesn't think so.

Mike exhales.

"Why?" He asks.

"Everything. Nothing. I wasn't going to…" He replies, trailing off.

"Troy was going to cut out Dustin's teeth and I lost it for a second." Mike says. He doesn't mention the exhilaration of after, of knowing that he lived, after everything, he's made it out and it might be okay. Will will be there soon, he supposes.

"Okay." Will says. After all, he sort of understands. He cocks his head. "Why are you here?"

"It's calming." Mike says, and Will wonders if he's referring to the soft waves or the fact that El's not here to stop him from throwing himself into them.

"I don't think you should jump again." Will says, and he means it.

"We can certainly try." Mike replies.

"We can." Will knows what Mike's trying to say.

They go home together, splitting apart only at the last minute.

"You can talk to me." Mike says, half-hesitant.

"Yeah." Will replies.

Will goes back into his house, up the stairs and into his room.

He picks up another crayon. It's not blue or gray, but it's a crayon, and he draws a masterpiece.


End file.
